


Clothing Makes The Man.

by SandiD, Tagsit



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: April Fools' Day, Could Be Canon, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 14:25:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10515576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandiD/pseuds/SandiD, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tagsit/pseuds/Tagsit
Summary: Post 513. Brian is missing Justin way more than is healthy for him and it’s showing up in some strange behavior. The gang starts to notice and they get worried. They eventually confront him, but will it do any good?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you like this fun collaboration. The idea was all SandiD's. I just took her words and rearranged them into a story. Enjoy! TAG
> 
> Written for the Kinnetik Dreams April Fool’s Day Crack!Fic Challenge.

***********   
  


It had started out small. The first signs were so subtle. If you didn’t actually KNOW Brian Kinney, you wouldn’t have noticed at all. 

 

Even Michael, Ted, and Emmett hadn’t said anything the first time Brian wore a too-small t-shirt to Babylon one night. They thought it was just a fluke. Maybe an off night for the usually well dressed stud. Hell, maybe all his usual sleeveless designer button down shirts were at the cleaners? 

 

The second time it happened, though, Emmett recognized the baby blue ‘FCUK’ shirt. He was pretty sure it was one of Justin’s. Em had seen that shirt on the boy too many times not to notice. Of course, it had been tight on the petite blond, so on Brian it was downright obscene. The hem barely came down to the middle of Brian’s abs. Not that anyone really minded seeing those long, lean, well defined abs, but it was just so out of character for Brian, that Em couldn’t help commenting on it.

 

“Nice shirt, Bri. Not your usual designer style though?” Emmett quipped with a crooked, gap-toothed smile. 

 

“Fuck you, Emmy Lou,” was all Brian said in reply before he moved off through the crowd to round up his first trick of the night. 

 

Emmett decided to hold his tongue after that.

  
  


Ted noticed soon afterward that Brian had taken to wearing a bulky, black-cased sports watch with multiple knobs and buttons and a wide plastic wrist-band. The watch did look somewhat familiar, even though Ted couldn’t remember ever seeing it on Brian before. The oversized thing was definitely not Brian’s usual designer style and didn’t go with the sleek lines of Brian’s Armani suit at all, which is why it stood out so baldly that Ted noticed it in the first place. Ted even caught Brian playing with the horrid thing, running his fingers over the facing throughout the finance meeting they had that morning. Brian seemed a little distracted the entire time. It was . . . odd, to say the least. Ted, though, was too fond of his job to comment on Brian’s appearance. Hell, for all he knew, this was the latest trend in men’s jewelry or something.

 

The first time that Michael felt it incumbent upon him to comment was the day that Brian showed up at the Diner and, instead of wearing his usual sexy leather bomber jacket, he was wearing some ratty old peacoat with a moth-eaten blue and black striped scarf wrapped around his neck. The coat was too small to even button all the way down the front. Even so, Brian was still acting like ‘Brian’ - he still walked with the same predatory panther-like stride. He still smirked at all the other Diner patrons with his usual aloof disregard. He still greeted Michael with the same lascivious over-friendly kiss to the lips. But he wasn’t dressed the way Brian usually dressed and that caused Michael to worry right from the start.

  
  


When Brian finally pulled off the jacket and scarf just before he started to slide into the opposite booth seat, Michael became really concerned. Brian was wearing his usual designer jeans, which of course fit him like a glove, but on top of that the man had paired it with a rumpled looking white t-shirt, an overshirt of blue-plaid fleece, and a second layered shirt of a darker, royal blue. Not that Brian didn’t look good in anything he wore, but Brian wearing plaid? That was just . . . wrong. Even when they’d been kids, Brian had made fun of ANYONE who wore plaid. He used to joke that the only thing plaid was good for was lesbian lingerie. Brian - Michael’s Brian - would NOT wear plaid. He just wouldn’t.

 

“Hey, Brian . . . um . . . you feeling okay?” Michael asked hesitatingly, not sure how exactly to bring up his concerns. 

 

“I’m fabulous!” Brian shot back with a fake smile while he ignored his friend in favor of yelling to Deb to bring him some coffee.

 

“Yeah, well, if you so fucking fabulous, why they hell are you dressed like your obnoxious wayward twink?”

  
  


“What the fuck are you talking about, Mikey? And since when did I ask you about how I should dress?” Brian snarled back at the incredulous man with some serious heat.

 

“I’m talking about those clothes, Brian,” Michael answered, gesturing to Brian’s ensemble with evident disgust, while Brian avoided looking his old friend in the eyes. “They’re Justin’s clothes, aren’t they? I’ve seen him wear that stupid, ugly, blue fleece shirt like a hundred times. Actually, I thought he’d thrown that old thing out ages ago. He spilled ink on the cuff one time when we were working on Rage and complained for about a half hour how it was his favorite shirt and he was so bummed that he’d have to get rid of it.” Brian still wasn’t meeting Michael’s gaze, fiddling with his still-empty coffee mug with one hand while his other hand was rubbing absentmindedly at one of the buttons at the lower edge of the frayed button placket. “Why the fucking hell are you dressing up like Justin, Brian? I thought we were finally rid of the annoying twat. He’s off doing his artist thing in New York, right? I figured you’d be glad to see the last of him so you could get your real life back. But now you’re dressing like him? What the fuck?”

 

“Fuck you, Michael!” Brian slammed the coffee mug down on the table so hard that the bang it made silenced the entire Diner. “Did I ASK your opinion about the way I’m dressed? No. I didn’t. And I don’t need your opinions about Justin either. But, just for your information, I won’t be getting my so called ‘real life’ back until Justin gets his ass home.”

 

Then Brian stood up, gathered together all his borrowed clothing and stormed out of the Diner, leaving Michael sitting there, stunned into silence for one of the first times in his life.

 

However, the matter really came to a head a few weeks later when Brian showed up to Babylon completely twinked out. The usually sartorially elegant man was actually wearing a pair of baggy cargo pants, a stained, shapeless grey hoodie, and tennis shoes. TENNIS SHOES! Brian’s friends were so agog they didn’t know what to say. Brian didn’t even dress that casually when he went to the gym, let alone for a night out at the club. Even worse, as soon as Brian got to the bar, he pulled the hoodie off over his head, revealing the rest of his outfit, which consisted of a red, mesh, midriff-baring tee. 

 

Babylon’s entire crowd of horny fags simply stood in speechless confusion as Brian stood there, unrepentant and totally oblivious to all the stares he was getting. For a moment, it seemed like even the music blaring through the speakers was muted in sympathetic horror at the spectacle that had appeared in the club. Brian still looked hotter than hell - he WAS Brian Fucking Kinney, after all - but nobody had ever seen the Stud of Liberty Avenue decked out like a slutty twinkie. Not even when Brian had been a twinkie all those years ago. Now, at the ripe old age of thirty-five, the twink look just really did NOT fit the man. It upset the natural order of things. Brian was a STUD. THE Stud. And your reigning Stud simply did NOT show up completely out of character, parading around like an adolescent twink. It was throwing everyone in the entire club off. It was just WRONG. 

 

“Brian? Brian, what are you doing? Why are you dressed like . . . like that? Are you feeling okay?” The questions from the gang pelted at Brian from all sides. 

 

Brian didn’t deign to hear their complaints though. He simply stood there, back against the bar with a beam in his hand, just like he always would, looking down his aristocratic nose at his subjects like nothing at all was out of the ordinary. Twinkified or not, Brian was still the King of Liberty Avenue and he would never lower himself to act undignified. He had always maintained that he didn’t care what people thought of him. This was the perfect time to prove that part of his mantra. So Brian poised in his usual disdainful magnificence and ignored the uproar his new ‘look’ was causing all around him. 

 

“Fuck it! This calls for a full-out intervention, guys,” Michael declared in a panic when Brian failed to even respond to his pleas. He quickly picked up the grey hoodie that Brian had just taken off, reached up and yanked it over the surprised man’s head. Then he pulled out the shirt that Ben had previously tucked into the back of his jeans and wrapped it around Brian’s waist, trying to further camouflage the embarrassing attire. “Help me get him out of here. NOW!” Michael ordered a still stunned Emmett, Ted and Ben. 

 

With Ben providing the muscle, Michael holding up Brian’s coverings and Ted and Em clearing an escape route to the door, the crew managed to manhandle a protesting Brian out of the club. Ted rushed off to pull his car around, and Brian was summarily shoved into the back seat. Michael and Em climbed in on top of him to make sure he wouldn’t be able to bolt if the car was forced to stop at a light or something. Brian was squirming, yelling and threatening all of them with dire consequences if they didn’t let him go immediately, but the Liberty Diner Regulars were all too freaked out by Brian’s behavior to relent. When Brian’s cursing became too much, Michael resorted to the expedient of shoving a piece of fabric Emmett handed him into the struggling man’s mouth. This did stifle the protests, at least in the short run. Until, that is, Michael thought to thank Emmett and ask what it was he’d just handed him.

 

“I think it’s Teddy’s cum towel,” Emmett answered nonchalantly. “He always has one on hand, you know. My Teddy is a good little Boy Scout and is ALWAYS prepared. Aren’t you Teddy?”

 

This pronouncement resulted in a renewed bout of struggling from their captive. It took all Michael and Emmett’s strength to hold Brian down. And, if it weren’t for the cum towel in his mouth, they would no doubt have been treated to the most scathing tongue lashing of their lives. He was struggling so frantically, in fact, that the side seam of the worn out old cargo pants began to tear. The sound of the ripping fabric only made Brian more angry and his struggles increased exponentially. 

 

If it weren’t for the fact that they had already pulled up in front of the loft by that point, Brian might have overpowered his kidnappers and escaped. As it was, he was still kicking and flailing about even after Ben leaped out of the car, pulled open the rear passenger-side door and started to help Michael and Em to pull their prisoner out of the vehicle. And, once they had Brian all the way out of Ted’s car and on his feet, Brian was once again uncontainable. He shrugged off Michael’s tenuous grip on his left arm and even wrenched his right out of Ben’s steely grip. The only person who still had a hold of any substantial piece of Brian was Emmett, although the only thing he was holding onto was the waistband of Brian’s already torn cargo pants. 

 

With one final heave, Brian broke free. Unfortunately the cargos he had worn that night were old and the stitching was frayed in several places. He had been hoarding them for more than five years - ever since the night of the party that Michael and Dr. Dave threw for Senator Baxter. Brian had been so turned on by the totally slutty outfit Em had dressed his boy in that night that he had surreptitiously hidden away the costume in his storage unit the very next day. He usually only ever took it out in private and only when he was feeling ridiculously sentimental. If he hadn’t been feeling so lost and lonely since the last time Justin had visited, he wouldn’t have dared to wear it out tonight. But he just couldn’t help himself. He missed the damn twat too fucking much. So he’d dug out the special outfit one more time and put it on. The inclination to actually wear it when he left for the club had been equally impulsive. And now he was paying for that impulse. 

 

So were the cargo pants, which tore along several seams as he violently jerked himself away from his attackers. Unfortunately, the pants being far too small for him, Brian had been forced to go commando under them. And, also unfortunately, once they ripped, the pants basically fell apart wholesale, leaving Brian free from his captors and Emmett holding only the shreds of torn clothing in his hand. 

 

Once Brian was free though, he was left standing there in all his glory from the waist down, and he really didn’t have anywhere to go. Not that Brian really minded walking about in his altogether, but it WAS rather chilly out. And his keys were in the pocket of the ripped pants. So, his options were to roam around the streets of Pittsburgh half naked or capitulate. It wasn’t really a difficult choice. Besides he was royally pissed at these fuckers for ripping up Justin’s pants - he had a few things to say to the ham-handed band of clods. 

 

So, with a resolute sigh, Brian turned around to face his kidnappers with his arms crossed over his chest and waited to see what they would do next.

 

“Where do you think you’re going, Brian? You’re fucking naked and it’s forty degrees out. Now, stop fighting us and get the hell inside where we can all talk some sense into you before you go completely fucking batshit crazy,” Michael ordered, pointing at the door with a look on his face like a censorious parent who’s reprimanding a recalcitrant child. 

 

Brian thoroughly objected to Michael’s tone, but seeing as the man did have a point about the nudity and the temperature, he wasn’t going to wait to make the point out there on the doorstep. Instead, Brian stalked over to Emmett, pulled the tattered pants out of the gaping queen’s hands and retrieved his keys. With as much meekness as he could muster, Brian handed the keys over to Ted and stepped back with a sweeping gesture as if asking the lot of them to be his guest and proceed him inside. Ted and Emmett took the offer but Michael waited behind. Ben stood with his condemnatory partner while Michael eyed Brian as if he was still likely to make a break for it. 

 

Brian simply shook his head, growled lowly under his breath and then decided to ignore them as he went in and purposely tugged the door closed behind him with a slightly evil chuckle. He ignored the knocking on the door, and the yelling through the glass, and jogged up the stairs. Unfortunately Ted and Em, who had let themselves into the loft proper, had already hit the door release and let Michael in by the time Brian made it to the top floor. Oh well. Brian figured he might as well let them get this farce over with. The sooner they said their piece, the sooner he could get them out of his fucking hair.

 

Once inside, Brian walked straight for the fridge and grabbed himself a cold bottle of water. He didn’t offer any to the invaders who were still watching his every move, because . . . well, they had not only forced their way in here, they’d torn Justin’s cargo pants and deserved to die a slow, painful and thirsty death as far as Brian was concerned. After his own thirst was slaked, though, he was sort of at a loss for what to do next. He’d never been the subject of an intervention before, but he was pretty sure that he wasn’t expected to do much. Right? So he just stayed where he was, leaning up against the counter in the kitchen, nursing the remains of his bottle of water, still uncovered from the waist down because fuck them. This was their show and he wasn’t going to help them in any way, shape or form.

 

“Fuck, Brian. Can you at least put some damned pants on?” Michael huffed and puffed when he and the Professor finally made it to the top of the stairs and came in through the loft’s still wide-open doors.

 

“I had pants on, Mikey. You assholes are the ones who literally tore them off me. If you wanted me in pants, you shouldn’t have ruined the ones I was wearing in the first place,” Brian retorted with unassailable logic while wearing his most facetious smile.

 

Michael growled at him - actually growled like an angry dog - which caused Brian no end of amusement. He still didn’t move though. Finally, tired of the ridiculous stand off, Michael traipsed up the stairs to the bedroom and came back with the first pair of pants he could find. These happened to be a pair of old, well worn sweats that had been waiting on the foot of the bed. Brian smiled as soon as he saw them and happily accepted the proffered clothing. He was so thrilled to see that pair of sweats that he rubbed the nubbled cloth against the side of his face and breathed in a deep lungful of the scent of the material before he sighed and pulled the pair of obviously too-small, too-tight pants up over his skinny ass. 

 

The image of Brian wearing the sweats, which were clearly NOT his size, along with the also undersized old hoodie was too much for Michael. He stomped over to where Brian was standing, grabbed hold of the larger man’s elbow and physically towed his friend over to the living room area where he proceeded to force Brian down onto the couch. Brian didn’t bother to resist. He was perfectly happy and completely comfortable in his favorite pair of stolen sweats. If he wasn’t feeling slightly annoyed by the continued presence of all these people frowning down at him, he would have be content to sit there all night.

 

“So, Brian, what do you have to say for yourself,” Michael demanded, standing judgmentally in front of the couch and apparently appointing himself the head of this inquisition.

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Briiiiiaaaan.” Michael’s whine made the name sound like it had four full syllables. Brian was impressed against his will. That much whining couldn’t be easy.

 

“Michael. If I may,” Emmett intervened at that point, stepping up so he was now right in Brian’s direct line of vision. “Brian, Honey . . . we, your friends, are a little worried about you.” He started off easy, seemingly wanting to move Brian carefully into the topic. “You have to admit you aren’t really acting like yourself lately. And we just want to make sure you’re okay. You are okay, right, Brian?” 

 

“I’m fine, Honeycutt,” Brian insisted bluntly before rising to his feet. “So, if that’s all you wanted to discuss, I guess we’re done here and you can all leave. Thanks for stopping by. Let’s NOT do this again.”

 

“Don’t call me, Honeycutt!” Emmett complained.

 

“Not so fast!” Michael held up his hand to stop Brian from getting far from the couch. “You’re not going anywhere till we get some answers, Brian!”

 

“Hang on a minute, Brian.” Ben stepped up closer to Michael to support his boyfriend.

 

Only Ted was willing to give up. The understated accountant was already sidling towards the door. “Fine with me. I didn’t really want to do this in the first place. I don’t believe in kink-shaming people. As far as I’m concerned, you’re welcome to your weird pint-sized clothing fetish, Bri. We all have our kink. Who am I to judge, right? We’ll just leave you to work on your new, teeny-tiny clothing line in peace. Em, you coming?”

 

“Get the fuck back here, Ted.” Michael ordered with a threatening look in the humble CPA’s direction.

 

“What, Michael? I mean, it could be worse. He could be into smelling women’s shoes or pony play or something. Right? I think the small clothing thing is creepy, but that’s just me. I’m sure dressing in tiny clothing is a lot healthier than, say, cutting or killing small animals or something equally dangerous. So I say we should just be supportive and let him go for it,” Ted counselled, trying to sound like the voice of reason that he was.

 

“None of us are going anywhere until Brian explains exactly what’s going on here,” Michael reiterated, standing there with his arms crossed stubbornly over his chest and looking at Brian like he had been a naughty schoolboy. “Now, start talking, Brian. What the fuck is going on? Why are you wearing this crap? You realize you look absolutely pathetic, right? Where are your real clothes and why are you dressing like . . . THIS . . . in public?” 

 

Brian didn’t answer. He merely sank back into the couch and turned the whole of his attention back to his bottle of water. Michael stood there, towering over Brian, with his mouth set in a tight, immovable line, waiting for an answer. The rest of the gang looked back and forth between the two of them, waiting to see who would crack first. Michael was getting more and more flustered, his face turning a disturbing shade of puce, while Brian continued to look as cool as a cucumber. Other than sipping at the remains of his water every so often, the only thing Brian did was to occasionally rub his hands over the fleece of his hoodie, or finger the edge of the red mesh top, the collar of which peeked through above the throat of the hoodie. Brian’s face, each time he did one of these things, seemed almost serene. But each such action only served to make Michael more and more irate.

 

When the standoff had gone on for what seemed like ages, Emmett finally spoke up again. “Brian. Sweetie. Why are you wearing Baby’s clothes?” Brian’s head shot up at the question, and his wide eyes looked frantic, like he was about to bolt. “I recognize that shirt, Brian. It’s the one I bought for Justin that time we all went to the party for Senator Baxter at Michael and Doctor Dimwit’s house.” Still Brian didn’t say anything so Emmett pressed on. “Honey, I know you miss him and all, but wearing his clothing isn’t going to bring him back. He’s gone, you know? He’s in New York, becoming a famous artist and all. Maybe, you know, it’s time for you to move on?”

 

“Oh, that’s why I recognized that watch you were wearing last week,” Ted spoke up, finally realizing where he’d seen that accessory before. “That was Justin’s watch, right?”

 

Brian didn’t say a word. It wasn’t any of their business. They didn’t know that he and Justin had kept in touch the entire time he’d been gone. They didn’t know that he’d flown to New York every chance he could for the past year. They didn’t know, and didn’t need to know either, that Justin had been home to Pittsburgh just three weeks earlier, or that Brian was scheduled to see him in just a couple more weeks when the boy would be the star at his first solo show in the Big Apple. As far as Michael and his cronies knew, Brian and Justin had ended things the day after the wedding-that-never-was. But in reality, that was about as far from the truth as you could get. 

 

“Fuck, Brian! I thought you had finally cut that gold digging twink loose. You should be glad he’s out of your life, not moping around and wearing his butt ugly, worn out old clothes,” Michael insisted meanly, his eyes blazing with the same old jealousy that continually flared up whenever Justin’s name was mentioned. “Seriously, Brian, you have to move past this shit. You’re the Stud of Liberty Avenue. You can’t be seen acting like some pathetic moon-eyed loser over some good for nothing twink. When are you going to realize he was just a clingy trick that wouldn’t go away and take back your real life?”

 

“Michael, don’t you think you’re being a little harsh,” Ben tried to temporize, laying one of his large hands on the irate little man’s heaving shoulders in an attempt to calm him. “Brian’s probably still grieving. He and Justin were together a long time. It’s going to take him a while to get over it. We should be supporting him, not yelling at him.”

 

“Bullshit!” Michael practically frothed at the mouth he was so angry by that point. “It’s been almost a year. The blond parasite is long gone and good riddance if you ask me. It’s time for Brian to get back to normal and start acting like the Stud he is. And running around town dressed like THAT is only going to turn him into a laughing stock.” 

 

By this point the rest of the gang were all starting to object to Michael’s latest condemnation. Ben, Emmett and Ted were all turned towards the fuming Michael and trying to talk him down. Nobody was focused on Brian any more. Brian himself was still sitting there, shocked by the vitriol and malice that Michael had been throwing out at him about Justin. It was probably the nastiest speech he’d given since the day that Brian had punched him out for having the gall to suggest that Brian would have been better off if he’d left Justin lying on the cement of the parking garage floor after Hobbs had attacked. Brian was too dumbfounded to think of a way to reply at first. He’d always known the simmering resentment was still there under the surface, but he’d had no idea how strong Michael’s hatred still was. Until now. 

 

“Fuck this. You know what? I’m tired of trying to be reasonable,” shouted a completely unreasonable Michael as he shouldered past Ted and stormed up to the bedroom without explanation. “I’m not going to let you do this to yourself or your reputation, Brian. Enough is enough!”

 

Before anyone knew what Michael was talking about, the obsessed little tornado was ravaging through Brian’s closet and drawers, pulling out any clothing that didn’t match Brian usual fashion-savvy style and making a pile of the detritus on the bedroom floor. 

 

“I’m going to do you a favor, Brian, and get rid of all this trash once and for all! Then, you’re going to put on some REAL clothes and we’re going back to Babylon and you’re going to fuck the first five guys you see. That should be enough to clear your head of the stupid little punk for good!” Michael declared, as he started to gather up the pile of clothing he’d amassed, almost all of which was very clearly identifiable as having belonged to Justin in the past.

 

“Get your fucking hands off his stuff!” Brian roared as soon as he realized what Michael was doing. 

 

It only took Brian five large steps to reach Michael. The clothing ravager had his back to Brian and was too busy trying to gather up the remains of Justin’s well worn wardrobe to notice the hurricane of fury that was headed his way. The gang, who were watching in mute silence, did nothing to stop Brian. They had seemed just as shocked and appalled as Brian at Michael’s meanness. 

 

Which meant that Michael was completely unprepared when Brian grabbed hold of a hunk of Michael’s hair and yanked his head back forcefully. The surprised meddler yelped and immediately dropped all the clothing he’d just struggled to gather up, reaching up instead to grapple with the hand tugging on his hair so hard a few strands were ripped from his scalp. Brian didn’t let go for an instant though. He used his handhold to tow Michael roughly down the stairs, across the floor and all the way to the door. It was still ajar, so it took no effort at all for Brian to kick it all the way open and forcibly toss an unwelcome Michael Novotny out on his ass. 

 

“Don’t come back here. Don’t call me. If you see me walking down the street, move to the other fucking side, because if I ever get my hands on you again, I’ll finish what I should have done a long fucking time ago and make sure you physically can’t EVER touch Justin’s stuff again. You hear me?” Brian screamed at the man sprawled inelegantly on the landing at the top of the stairs. Then he turned to the rest of the interlopers watching the proceedings with mouths open and startled faces. “Anybody else want to continue with this fucking ‘intervention’?” Brian asked. A trio of heads vigorously shook ‘no’. “Good. Then get the fuck out along with your leader,” Brian ordered, pointing to the door.

 

“We’re sorry, Brian,” Emmett said in a hushed voice as he neared the door. “I don’t agree with Michael about Justin. Please don’t be angry. I . . . I only wanted to help. I know you’re missing Baby something bad and that’s okay. You know?” When Brian didn’t relent even the littlest bit, Emmett caved a little. “It’s okay that you miss Baby. I know you do. You don’t have to say it. It’s plain as the nose on your face. I miss him too. But if you want to talk about it, you know where to find me, Brian.” 

 

“Get the fuck out, Honeycutt,” Brian reasserted, but this time without any anger behind the demand, causing Emmett to smile and forget to admonish him for calling him by his surname.

 

“And here I was, impressed that you’d invented a completely novel kink for teeny-tiny clothing,” Ted complained as he followed Emmett out the door. He stopped before he was completely clear of the threshold though and added a thought. “If you want my opinion - not that you do, of course - but if you really are missing him that much, you should just go get him. Because, the tiny clothing thing . . . I don’t think it will ever really catch on.”

 

“Fuck off, Theodore. Before I fire your ass for meddling.”

 

“Fucking off, Boss. See you on Monday.” Ted smiled his usual deprecating smile and shuffled over to help Emmett haul Michael back to his feet.

 

“Sorry about Michael,” Ben apologized before he joined the others. “I’ll try to talk to him . . .”

 

“Don’t bother. It wouldn’t do any good,” Brian replied with resignation. 

 

Ben nodded with a saddened expression but didn’t bother to add anything since he too knew it was a hopeless cause. He quickly followed the other three out the door. The whole group proceeded quietly down the stairs, the only noise being Michael’s hushed complaints and ongoing whingeing, which the others gave little heed to. Brian was happy to slam the door on the lot of them, locking it firmly to hopefully keep them out.

 

Of course, that left him back in the too quiet and too empty loft. Alone again. Far too alone for Brian’s taste. He really had no idea what to do with his free time these days and hated just hanging out in the silent loft. But he didn’t want to try going out again. That had been a total disaster. 

 

With a lonely sigh, Brian turned towards his computer. He could always go read through the texts and emails that Justin had sent him recently. He never answered them. Except for the few brief calls they made whenever they were making arrangements to go see each other, their separation had been mostly silent. Brian would have liked to answer all the messages but he just never knew what to say. He was afraid he’d break down and start begging his Sunshine to come back. To stay with him. To tell New York and the art world to fuck off for good. Which would be pathetic and self-serving and Brian would never do that to his stubborn and independent partner. But he wanted to. So the better alternative was to just not say anything. He did love to read all the messages though. 

 

Those messages were pretty much the only things still keeping Brian sane these days. 

 

For more than an hour, Brian immersed himself in the fantasy of those happy missives. When he’d totally depressed himself with his reading, he got up, poured himself a double double beam, turned on some sad Jazz and stood there in the middle of the floor, swaying to the music in a dance for one as he sauntered around his loft. It wasn’t until he heard a faint metallic clink at the door and then the grating noise as the heavy metal portal slid open again that he even looked up from his glass and his contemplation of the wailing saxophones coming from the sound system. He wasn’t expecting anyone. He hoped it wasn’t Michael coming back for more. He really would punch the asswipe this time.

 

As soon as the the door slid open Brian saw a bright blond head crooking through the entrance. Brian had consumed enough alcohol by that point that he was rather slow on the uptake. He remained standing where he was, swaying slightly, drink in one hand and his mind now totally blank.

 

“Hey.” The dulcet greeting and the wide, sunshiney smile as the blond stepped through the door and deposited his bag on the floor acted like an instant balm to Brian’s frayed nerves. “I’m sorry I’m getting here so late. I drove all the way out to Britin. For some reason I thought you’d be there, but it doesn’t look like anyone’s been staying there for quite a while. So, I turned around and drove straight back here . . . Surprise!”

 

Brian still hadn’t said a word. He wasn’t completely sure he wasn’t imagining this. He couldn’t even move. He wanted so much to run to the blond, hold him, touch him, make sure he wasn’t just an apparition, but he didn’t dare because if he moved or blinked the illusion might disappear. So he simply waited where he was.

 

Justin came around the end of the couch and then stopped dead in his tracks, just staring with evident surprise at what he found in front of him. Somewhere along the way, Brian had changed out of the hoodie and red mesh shirt he’d put on earlier in the evening. As he was dancing around, he’d slowly been working at putting away the clothing that Michael had unearthed and been threatening to throw away. Brian couldn’t resist changing into his favorite shirt when he’d found it at the bottom of the pile. So, when Justin arrived, he happened upon a Brian dressed only in a pair of Justin’s tighty whities and the old blue plaid shirt he’d thought he’d tossed out years before. The shirt was hanging wide open, exposing Brian’s sinewy, athletic chest. Brian watched as his blond’s eyes greedily roamed over him, pleasantly proud of the way the sight made Justin’s face flush with almost instant lust. Apparently, the sight of Brian wearing Justin’s clothes was a big turn on. Who would have guessed.

 

“Nice look, Brian,” Justin cooed as he strode over to his man, letting his hands play over the older man’s body along with the stolen clothing as soon as he was hear enough. 

 

Brian could feel his heart constrict in his chest. He was instantly hard, needy, and wanting. Fuck, he had been missing his Sunshine so badly. The pain of his absence had been weighing on Brian so intensely it had become almost unbearable. And now, the abrupt return of the one he’d been longing for was such a rapturous surprise, he thought he might actually faint like a little pussy boy.  

 

Justin’s laugh was the thing that finally brought Brian back to himself. “Oh, Brian. We’re a fucking mess aren’t we?” the boy’s rhythmic tenor rang out. 

 

At first Brian didn’t understand what Justin was talking about. Then he noticed the youth starting to take off the brown leather bomber jacket he was wearing and recognized it immediately as one of his own. Underneath the jacket, Justin was wearing one of Brian’s black wife beaters - which was far too big on the slender young man’s frame and bagged up over his hips but which looked adorable nonetheless.  

 

“I stole it the last time we were together,” Justin explained, laughing at Brian’s confused look. “It smells like leather and your cologne and . . . you. When I wear it, it makes me feel not so alone anymore.” Brian didn’t say a word. He just smiled down on his wayward lover, who apparently thought just like him. “I also took your blue denim shirt and about ten pairs of your underwear.” Justin giggled and blushed again. “Oh, and this,” Justin waggled his wrist which was adorned by Brian’s old cowry shell and leather bracelet - the one that he’d stopped wearing when the cord became too frayed. 

 

Brian cinched his arms around the blushing blond and squeezed him so tight. “My underwear? Isn’t that a bit kinky for you, Twat?” Brian teased, finally finding his words as soon as he felt the warmth of his lover in his embrace one more time.

 

“I missed you, you big lug,” was Justin’s only excuse, said as he snapped the waistband of the purloined shorts that Brian was sporting.

 

Brian tightened his hold around Justin even more, holding on so hard it was a wonder the boy could breathe and pulling him into his body so close that he left no space at all between them.  

 

“I missed you, too, Sunshine,” Brian admitted in a raspy whisper.  “I missed you so fucking much.”

 

The confession seemed to be too much for Justin, who let out a unfeigned sob. Brian didn’t want Justin to be sad or in pain. He never wanted to cause his boy sadness of any kind. But Brian was determined to reinforce to Justin that he loved him and he hoped that would be enough to drive away whatever was causing this misery. Good thing Brian was well over those days when he would have tried to hide from his feelings from Justin.

 

“Listen, you Twat,” Brian whispered in Justin’s ear. “I’ve learned something while you were gone this time.” Justin tried to move far enough away so he could look up at Brian but the strong man wouldn’t relent and kept Justin snuggled as close to his heart as possible. “At first I thought that maybe this time you were going to find something better in New York. That you would figure out you didn’t need me or want me or love me anymore. I started to throw out the clothes you left behind. But I just couldn’t do it. For some reason, when I put them on, I feel better. It feels like you’re next to me. And then I know, you won’t leave me.”

 

Brian’s face was flushed and there might have even been a glint of tears in his eyes, but that didn’t matter. This time he didn’t care if he showed his feelings. Because his Sunshine had shown him that he felt the same.  

And the next morning the two of them showed the rest of the world.

 

Brian and Justin walked into the Liberty Diner hand in hand, each of them wearing ear to ear smiles and bearing that certain ‘Just Fucked’ look that always turned heads. But even more than the air of sex that accompanied them, their choice of clothing was what caused the most stir that day. Because now they were BOTH out of the closet so to speak. 

 

You see, on that bright and happy day, Brian was wearing a brilliant orange, baby-doll t-shirt with the number ‘76’ emblazoned on the front, faded grey jeans that were far too short and much too tight on him and tattered old high top Converse shoes. Meanwhile, his boy toy, Justin, was adorned in black low-rise jeans that seemed like they were meant to be tight but which bagged on him, except across his bubbly ass where the material was stretched thin, a black wife beater tee and a leather biker’s jacket that was at least two sizes too big. Brian was once again wearing a bulky, black sports watch on his wrist and Justin was sporting a refined leather and cowry shell bracelet on his. But, regardless of the fact that their clothing was a mess and clearly didn’t fit right, the two of them had never looked happier. 

  
  
  


The End.

 

***********

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 4/1/17 - Who wants to start a new kink for tiny clothing with me, Sandi & Brian! We'll meet the second Tuesday of every month. LOL. Hope you liked it. TAG


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